


Camouflage

by prairiecrow



Series: Camouflage/Disclosure/Possession/Consummation [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, Awkward Sexual Situations, Discovering Bisexuality, F/M, Festivals, Food Sharing, M/M, Politics, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unwanted Sexual Pursuit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the Bajoran festival of Kejal-am, Julian Bashir runs into a sticky situation with a group of Evorian traders. Fortunately his friend Garak is there with a clever plan to keep him out of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set between the S2 episodes "The Wire" and "The Collaborator".

Doctor Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine, departed the Infirmary at the end of his duty shift and walked down the Promenade with a spring in his step and a song in his heart. The station's main commercial thoroughfare, hung with colorful banners from the ceiling and second story, was practically deserted even though it was 1500 hours and the hub would normally be packed with residents and visitors going about their daily business. Today, however, was not a typical day: today was the start of the festival of Kejal-am, and Julian had been reliably informed that all Bajoran inhabitants of DS9, and many non-Bajorans as well, would be having an early dinner and freshening themselves up and putting on their best clothes and generally preparing themselves for twenty-six hours of fun, revelry and downright debauchery. 

The word  _Kejal_  meant  _freedom_  in the Bajoran language and the Bajorans, who as a rule were bound by religious codes which enjoined them to practice temperance, modesty and piety, found release from those all-encompassing laws on this one day out of every five Bajoran years. Jadzia Dax had noted, with a twinkle in her lively blue eyes, that it was common in many cultures with strict standards of propriety to have a built-in safety valve for the less socially responsible impulses of their citizens — a classic Terran example would have been the various medieval Feast of Fools celebrations, during which religious convention was mocked and the poor took liberties with the rich. Kejal-am, with its exchanges of little gifts and use of masks and plenty of sexual innuendo, was certainly in that tradition, and Julian was looking forward to a very interesting evening indeed.

“I expect all Starfleet officers to conduct themselves with due decorum during the festival of Kejal-am.” Commander Sisko had instructed during this afternoon's briefing, then smiled as he clarified: “That’s not to say that you can’t have as good a time as you wish, while conforming to station regulations. However, I’d really prefer not to see any of you dancing on tables with a lampshade on your head.”

The staff's response had been laughter, but based on Quark's tales (shared as the Ferengi waxed practically orgasmic at the prospect of festival profits) Julian was guessing that the sight of someone cutting a buck and wing with tassels hanging down over their eyes was going to be relatively tame compared to a lot of what would be going on tonight. Hence the bounce in his stride and the whistle that kept threatening to break out on his lips: it had been quite a while since he'd attended a decent let-loose party, particularly one with plenty of scantily clad women on offer.

Speaking of cladding and fancy dress, he had deliberately taken a route to one of the turbolifts that took him past Garak's tailor shop. The Cardassian had missed their regular lunch date for the past two weeks, protesting that he was up to his ears in commissions, alterations and general tailoring duties in preparation for the festival. Approaching the shop now, however, Julian noted that it was closed and dark. Evidently Garak had decided to take the afternoon off before things went totally insane.

The sight made Julian smile although he'd been half-hoping to find Garak working and coax him into a conversation. He certainly didn't expect to see his friend the spy this evening: a raucous celebration where traditional mores were cast off and replaced with general indulgence and license of every kind, including rampant sexual flirtation, wasn't Garak's sort of event, as Garak had made abundantly clear yesterday afternoon when Julian had asked him outright if he would be taking part in the revelries. Garak, who had been cutting a pattern from a piece of cloth with a laser blade at the time, had replied in a distracted tone:

“My dear Doctor, I see no point in risking a headache by subjecting myself to the presence of hordes of screaming drunken Bajorans. Dealing with their unending requests for suitable clothing in which to indulge themselves has been quite trying enough, thank you.”

“Well,” Julian had remarked, looking around at the controlled chaos of the shop, “at least that means that business has been good.” Business usually was. Whatever he’d been in a past life, the Cardassian had a genuine flair for design and execution when it came to working with fabrics.

Garak had sighed and, coming to the end of the pattern, picked up a pair of ordinary scissors and started using them to snip off errant threads. “I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies,” he conceded as he worked. Julian folded his arms and leaned against a bulkhead to watch him. Those grey hands were nothing like his own — the fingers were neither particularly long nor especially elegant — but they moved with swift and easy certainty. He had a better idea now of what Garak had once been, and found himself wondering if the Cardassian had been this graceful when he was working on flesh and blood. In his heart of hearts he had no doubt, and that was another part of the dark mystery of this strange exile who had somehow become one of his closest friends here.

Snip-snip-snip, with a final little flourish. Lay the scissors aside, precisely where they’d come from in the first place, oriented the same way. Catch the fragile cloth with blunt fingertips, turn it delicately, lay it exactly where it was wanted. Julian, himself a surgeon, had a certain professional appreciation for Garak’s almost clinical accuracy. The thought that their similar techniques had a common root chilled him a little, but Garak sometimes did that. 

“I should be getting back to the Infirmary,” he’d said, although the prospect of staying here and watching Garak cut cloth was tempting. Sinister background aside, there was something undeniably soothing in the rhythm of the tailor’s work.

“Hmmm?” Garak barely glanced up. “Well then, I suppose I’ll see you at our next lunch.”

Julian raised an eyebrow at that. Garak really was feeling swamped: normally he wouldn’t be dismissing his Human friend so quickly. “Yes,” Julian replied, straightening, “I suppose so.” He had turned to go, but something made him pause and turn back. “Oh, Garak?” The tailor looked up again, and Julian smiled at him. “Evora Kejal-am,” he said, repeating the greeting he’d heard around the Promenade many times in the last few days.

And Garak had smiled back, an expression of apparently genuine pleasure. “Evora Kejal-am, Doctor,” he responded warmly. “May your dearest dreams come true.”

Julian had inclined his head in a nod of farewell and departed. Now his gaze lingered on the tailor's shop just before it passed out of his line of sight. He imagined that Garak would spend the evening with a good book and a small glass of kanar, a suitably calm and dignified course of action for someone of the tailor's reserved temperament. For his part, Julian hoped that an interesting evening would turn into an absolutely marvellous night with some beautiful young lady or other. Hopefully the relaxed standards of Kejal-am would work in his favor tonight: as handsome as he was, he knew that his technique with women often fell flat. Perhaps during Kejal-am they would be a little more receptive to his charms.

*************************************

Two hours later Julian exited the turbolift again to find the aspect of the Promenade considerably altered. The wide corridor was now a sea of people attired in bright colors, most of them clutching glasses of alcohol (Quark was no doubt in financial ecstasies) and all of them wearing wide smiles of genuine happiness. Within seconds Julian found himself wearing a similar expression, and why shouldn't he be?  _When in Rome_ , as the saying went, and besides, he had an evening off ahead of him potentially filled with wine, willing female partners, and whatever fun he could find. Barring a medical emergency he was determined to thoroughly enjoy himself.

With that in mind he headed towards Quark's through the press of bodies, having to turn his slim frame completely sideways at certain points to slide between people in the close-packed crowd. He was wearing an outfit he'd brought with him to DS9 when he'd first been assigned to the station: a tailored ivory shirt that accentuated the caramel color of his skin, a purple vest, tight black pants, and black ankle boots. Garak had offered — repeatedly — to make something new for him, with an expression that suggested he found Julian's taste in clothing offensive but was too polite to actually say so. Julian had turned him down flat. He liked the cut of Garak's clothes but the sense of color was, well… Cardassian, he supposed. He preferred to keep things simpler himself and besides, the trick to successful flirting was to feel comfortable in one's outfit and he'd had good luck in this ensemble before. He could sense a couple of gazes on him already as he made his way toward a glass of cold Sevarian wine and a fully stocked hunting ground, which boded well for —

Someone stepped in front of him, blocking his path — someone so tall that the top of Julian's head barely came up to their shoulder. Julian murmured an apology and slid to the right. The person in question matched his movement, continuing to prevent his progress down the corridor. Now surprised and a little annoyed, Julian looked up… and up, into the broad pale face of a man with shoulders almost twice as wide as Julian's own and long white elaborately beaded dreadlocks streaming down over his barrel of a chest, which was revealed by a grey tunic split open almost to his navel. Piercing green eyes with a circle of blue surrounding the irises gazed down at Julian unblinking, and something about the man's expression put Julian on full alert.

"Excuse me," Julian said politely, and tried again to pass him. The male put out an arm to block him, then stepped again directly into his path. He was an Evorian, Julian realized — he remembered seeing this particular specimen now, in a small group of traders walking up the steps in Ops to Sisko's ready room to be introduced to the Commander upon their arrival at the Station two days ago. They were on DS9 to negotiate the sale of larinium, an exquisitely rare element, to the Bajorans, and DS9 had been chosen as neutral ground for the trade talks. Julian suppressed the urge to wince. He was treading on diplomatic ground now and would have to be doubly careful of his words and actions, and he knew full well that although he'd gotten better at controlling his nervous tendency to babble he'd have to be on his guard to avoid putting his foot in his mouth.

"Ah… can I help you?" That seemed safe enough, an appropriate thing for a person wearing a Starfleet comm badge to say.

The male's expression remained stern, almost threatening, but his voice was a low rumbling intimate purr that carried easily over the babble of the crowd: "Sweet water and salt be yours forever, my tasty morsel. Gladly would I eat larasa fruit from your tender hand." And then he paused, the quality of his gaze turning expectant.

"Um." Completely flat-footed, Julian tried to figure out what was expected of him — because something was, clearly. He just had no idea what. "… thank you?"

He flashed a wider smile and made as if to move around the trader again, hoping that his response was sufficient and wouldn't precipitate a diplomatic incident. The Evorian purred again and made a sinuous grab for him, wrapping an arm as thick as Julian's thigh around the Human's upper waist and trying to draw him against his burly body. "Where are you going, little —"

 _"Hey!"_  With a yelp, Julian leaped back, twisting free of the alien's grasp, which had not been that solid: clearly he hadn't been expecting resistance. Now at a safer distance of half a meter, he glared up at the bone-white face, which now wore a rather predatory smile. "What do you think you're doing?" 

The trader glanced to his left, and out of the corner of his eye Julian caught sight of three more Evorians, less solidly built than his would-be abductor but still plenty big enough to cause a lot of trouble. Then the green eyes returned to Julian's face with a force that was almost palpable. "I am Zevar Til Assok, son-heir of the First Procurer of the Sevarn Consortium, and you, my fine vintage of La'a'rian spring wine, are destined to be mine."

Julian opened his mouth, about to say  _The hell I am!_ , when he remembered the trade talks and put his enhanced mind to good use. "Thank you," he said again, speaking slowly and with great care — it wouldn't hurt to appear a little mentally deficient. "I'm… sure that's a lovely compliment. But I'm, um, on my way to meet —"

"Julian!" The voice, loud and good-natured, was familiar even if the use of his first name was not. "There you are, you naughty boy! You were supposed to meet me in Quark's twenty minutes ago!"

And out of the crowd, like a one-man cavalry, appeared Garak, clad in a black tunic striped with playful tigerish flashes of burgundy silk and smiling broadly. Julian could have hugged him — until Garak came right up to him, slipped his arm around Julian's waist (which was seeing entirely too much action of the wrong kind this evening) and pressed a little kiss to his throat just below his left ear, which he then murmured into: "Relax, Doctor, and play along."

Julian forced the electric tension out of his back and shoulders and managed to fake an answering smile. "Garak! I… I'm sorry, I lost track of time —"

"Of course you did." Garak beamed at him fondly, then turned his friendly gaze on the Evorian, whose expression had turned to ice. "He's always losing track of time," he remarked, giving Julian's waist a warm little squeeze, "but he's so beautiful that I can't help but forgive him. Would you excuse us?" And he led Julian off into the crowd, moving toward the inner curve of the Promenade, away from the cluster of traders. Zevar Til Assok sent a baleful glare after them but made no attempt to stop them. 

When they were out of hearing range Julian hissed in Garak's ear: "What the hell was  _that_ all about?"

Garak, his arm still around Julian's waist, murmured back: "You attracted the attention of an Evorian. That was most unwise of you, Doctor."

"It's not like I  _meant_  to do it!" He risked a glance back. Assok was heading back toward his compatriots, but he was still watching Julian like a hawk. He turned face forward again. "You can let go of me now."

"Oh, I think not. Are you not familiar with what happened the last time the Evorians were on this station?"

Julian cast his mind back over the reports he'd read. "Four and a half years ago, when they tried to trade larinium with the Cardassians. They left without completing the talks."

"And do you know why they left so precipitously?"

"Our records from that time are incomplete. The Cardassian forces destroyed all the data they could when they left."

Garak slid his glance back over the shoulder Julian was almost leaning against under the pretence of nuzzling the Human's cheek. "They're still watching us. I'm afraid he's not going to give up so easily." 

"What does this have to do with the trade talks four years ago?" He pulled away a little, feeling both uncomfortable and somewhat excited at such proximity to a dangerous Cardassian spy, and Garak relented and reduced his mock-possessive touch to his hand on the small of Julian's back, guiding him through the crowd.

"Why, the head of the Evorian delegation at that time took a fancy to a warrant officer under Gul Dukat's direct command and demanded possession of said officer as a condition of the negotiations going forward."

"Possession?" Julian's heart started to sink toward his stylish boots. "You mean…?"

"I'm afraid I do. Dukat refused, of course — the notion of a freeborn male Cardassian being given to an alien as sexual chattel was impossible to contemplate. The Evorians packed up and went home without another word, refusing all the various other delicacies that Dukat offered as an incentive to continue the talks."

"Well," Julian said with considerable heat, "I am  _not_  a 'delicacy' they can have for any…" His voice trailed off. "They broke off the talks, you say, because this officer wouldn't…"

"Let himself be devoured?" The comment was a typically witty one: Evorian cultural metaphors all seemed to revolve around food, the cultivation of it and the sharing of it… and the taking of it by force, Julian recalled. 

"Oh,  _God._ " He couldn't bring himself to take another glance over his shoulder. What if Assok was following them? "Garak, this is — I mean, I  _can't_ possibly —"

"Don't panic, Doctor," Garak soothed as they reached the entrance of Quark's. "Ah! Here we are. Let's find a table, shall we?"

"Garak!" Julian stopped dead in his tracks. "This is no time to have a drink!"

"Actually, it's the perfect time to have a drink." He studied Julian's face for a moment, then sighed at his mulish expression. "Part of the problem with Gul Dukat was that he lacked information, and didn't think fast enough using what he had. I suffer neither of those failings. Evorian males will respect the previous sexual claim of another male on an object of their desire. All we have to do is to make it appear that you 'belong', so to speak, to me, and he will eventually lose interest."

"That I… 'belong' to you." Julian let the full implication of those words spin itself out in his mind and didn't like the final outcome.

Garak nodded, not without a certain amount of sympathy. "I'm sorry you ended up with… well." He gestured at his own rather stout form in a deprecating fashion. "But cheer up! I'll make it up to you by conducting a personal tour, with instructive lectures, on the festival of Kejal-am."

Julian seized on the most obvious point of hope: "But surely if I find a woman to cozy up against —"

"I'm sorry," and he seemed to mean it, "but from an Evorian point of view the claimant has to be another male. All your suitor would do if he saw you with a young lady would be to cut in and make another grab for you, and then where would we be?"

Julian managed to smile politely in response, silently kissing his dreams of plenty of willing and nubile female company goodbye, and wondered which God he'd pissed off to end up in this situation. Mind you, it could have been a lot worse: Garak was, if nothing else, guaranteed to be interesting company.

"Now," the Cardassian was saying, leading him past the bar where Quark was briskly serving drinks and toward the stairs going up to the second level of the bar, "allow me to begin your education by introducing you to a traditional festival food at this time of year. Quark should certainly have it in stock. It's called sesham, and I think you'll find it an effective distraction from your present difficulties."

Julian shrugged and resigned himself to a new and strange experience, even if it wasn't quite the 'boldly go where no man has gone before' he'd hoped for. "All right, you've talked me into it. Lead on!"

"After you." Garak elegantly gestured him ahead and Julian started up the staircase, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so. He saw no sign of Assok or his party. For an instant he considered arguing with Garak that he could safely slip away and get lost in the crowd, but the memory of a heavy white hand closing on his side quickly changed his mind. Perhaps an hour or so of being publicly squired around by Garak would be enough of a show to put the Evorian off the scent, and then he could get back to the real business of the evening: finding a pretty girl to enjoy and be enjoyed by.


	2. Chapter 2

Quark had packed even more tables onto the second level than usual in the service of accommodating more paying customers, including some that were barely big enough for one person. At one such table against the back wall two young Bajoran ladies displaying a breathtaking amount of skin were just rising to depart, obviously engaged in animated conversation. Julian headed straight for them, both out of natural sexual inclination and because they had just created the only two free seats to be had. There was really only one navigable path to and from the table in question and in consequence he met one of the girls directly, sliding half-past her so that they ended up pressed together face to face.

The natural response, of course, was to offer a wide charming smile. "Hello."

Her expression as she gazed up into his eyes was warm, friendly, and definitely flirtatious. "Hi!" The twin swell of her breasts, barely contained in her clinging bodice, was pressed firmly against his chest. A part of Julian further south reared its head in response. "I'm Shivera."

"Well, that's a lovely name." He was still grinning down into her wide sparkling blue eyes when Garak cleared his throat loudly behind him and snapped him back to the present — and his current situation. Oh, the Gods responsible for this had a  _lot_  to answer for. "Um, I have… I've got to…" He gestured apologetically toward his Cardassian friend. "Maybe later?"

She giggled and traced an electric fingertip down his left side. "Later," she murmured in a tone that dripped with promise. As she finished sliding past him she brushed the palm of her hand firmly over his groin, which did nothing in terms of making his cock lie back down and behave itself. He was still staring after her when she and her friend had slipped past Garak and sashayed toward the stairs and down them, probably out of his life forever.

"Doctor?" Garak's tone was polite. "You're blocking the way."

"Oh. Right." He continued to the table and slid into one of the seats, hoping the shadows up here hid the hectic flush on his cheeks and the bulge in his pants. Nobody else would be paying attention to such things other than Garak, that was for sure: Quark's patrons were having such a rousing, loud, borderline rowdy good time that Julian was pretty sure he could have started dancing the can-can and been totally ignored. "Sorry."

"It's quite all right." Garak settled into his seat and moved the empty glasses to the edge of the table, freeing up enough space to lay both hands lightly on the tabletop. "I'd expect nothing less from you."

"Thank you — I think." He didn't know whether to be amused or wounded, or profoundly annoyed, but was tending toward the latter considering that he was connected to Garak at the hip for the next hour or two at least, in an environment with plenty of curvaceous eye candy to tempt him in many other directions. He drew a deep breath and willed his erection to subside faster.

Garak smiled serenely. "You're quite welcome. Ah, look — a miracle!" He nodded toward a somewhat harassed-looking Ferengi waiter who had just come up the staircase and was making his way towards them. The waiter swept the empty glasses onto a tray, gave the tabletop a quick swipe with a damp cloth, and took their orders: the sesham and a glass of kanar for Garak, and a martini for Julian. At the mention of the food item the Ferengi gave them both a keen look, keener than was normal even for a calculating member of his species, but before Julian could ask him what his problem was he had taken off in the direction of the bar.

"What was that all about?" Julian wondered aloud, frowning at his departing and garishly clad back.

Garak blinked. "What was what all about?"

"That look he gave us. He seemed… I don't know, almost surprised." 

"I haven't the slightest idea." Which Julian didn't believe for a second, but Garak continued before he could interject: "Kejal-am is a time of strangeness in general, when the vedek indulges in the most coarse and lowbrow of pranks and the shy man — or woman — becomes the life of the party. I suspect it may be a major reason why the Bajorans, who are as a rule are so tightly constrained by the rules of their faith, are able to maintain their high standard of virtue."

Now it was Julian's turn to blink. "That's an odd sentiment, coming from a Cardassian."

Garak smiled disarmingly. "Surely you've guessed by now that I am not a typical Cardassian in that respect? After having lived with the Bajorans for so many years I flatter myself that I've developed an appreciation for the more admirable points of their culture, and say what you will about them otherwise, they do live up to their moral codes — as a rule."

Julian nodded thoughtfully in agreement. "As a rule, yes. But there are notable exceptions — look at the fatal attack on Aamin Marritza last year."

"Ah!" Garak held up a forefinger. "But from his point of view the murderer was engaging in an eminently moral course of action — killing an oppressor of his people." 

"But Marritza wasn't an oppressor." Julian clasped his hands on the tabletop and leaned closer; the table was so small that he could easily hear Garak talking amid the riot of background music and conversation, even though they were speaking barely above normal conversational levels. "In fact, he was trying to make the Cardassian government accountable for its actions. Norva Kainon killed him for no other reason that that he  _was_  a Cardassian, and I'd call that pretty damned evil."

The tailor's smile was patient and enigmatic. "Evil, like beauty, is usually in the eye of the beholder. Context is everything." His gaze was focussed on Julian's face, but he suddenly glanced to his left. "Speaking of which…"

A curious turn of phrase, but Julian didn't have time to inquire about it; the Ferengi waiter was coming back, his tray balanced deftly on one hand as he wove between the chairs to their location. He deposited the ordered drinks on the table in front of each with them, then slid a plate in between them: twenty centimetres across and royal blue, containing eight small white balls, firm but moist-looking, arranged in a circle with a thin red sauce poured over them. After offering another mysterious glance at Julian in particular the waiter left them to their meal, and Julian didn't hesitate to pick up one of the balls nearest to him and pop it into his mouth —

— and almost gagged it right back up again. "Gah! Oh God, that's  _awful!_ " He swallowed quickly and took a hasty sip of his martini to wash down the worst of it.

Garak sighed. "I've always known that your impetuousness would get you into trouble one day." He picked up a ball from a point in the circle midway between them with delicate fingertips. "Watch closely, Doctor. It all has to do with the preparation."

Julian watched sceptically as Garak rolled the little ball between the tips of his thumb, forefinger and middle finger. Through the sauce he could see the sesha changing color from fish belly white to a rosy shade of pink, presumably due to some chemical reaction between the Cardassian's skin and the substance of the food. Instead of eating it himself, or placing it back on the plate for Julian to pick up in turn, Garak held it out to Julian still held between his fingertips. "Try it now," he invited, then shook his head when Julian reached out for it in his turn. "No, not like that. Directly from my fingers."

An awkward pause followed as a surprised Julian considered the request. Garak waited with one of those thin little smiles that suggested he was enjoying himself at the expense of his younger human friend's inexperience, but after a couple of moments Julian leaned forward a few more centimetres and tentatively accepted the morsel, managing not to get too much sauce on his lips in the process as he refrained from touching the cool grey skin more than was absolutely necessary to accomplish the task.

A heartbeat later his eyes opened wide as unexpected flavours filled his mouth: deliciously sweet, thrillingly sharp, with a satisfying undertone of umami as the amino acid L-glutamate and various 5’-ribonucleotides coated his tongue with a pleasant brothy meatiness. He held the morsel for a long moment to savour it before swallowing and remarking reverently: “My God, that’s...”

“Quite different, isn’t it?” Garak’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “As with so many things in life, it’s all in how you prepare for the experience. Context, my dear Doctor!” He wiped his fingers fastidiously on his napkin and nodded at the plate. “Now, let me show you the full and proper technique. If you’ll oblige me...?”

“Ah.” Julian felt another flash of discomfort as he picked up a sesha from his own side of the plate, but.. well, this  _was_  an evening for expanding one's boundaries, so he rolled it as instructed and then held it out to Garak with the tips of his fingers. The Cardassian’s smile was narrower now, and considerably more... predatory? Yes, definitely. It reminded him a little of Assok's expression, although it was far less arrogant. Garak leaned forward across the narrow table and caught the little sweetmeat with a deft but leisurely flicker of his tongue: the slick yet rough texture of it against Julian’s skin, together with the light pressure of cool grey lips surrounding his fingertips, sent an unexpected jolt of electricity down Julian’s arm and straight to his groin. Garak, however, did not immediately withdraw. He licked away the sauce clinging to his friend’s fingertips with a few more little laps that managed to be both precise and incredibly thorough. By the time he pulled back, eyes half-closed as if enjoying the taste of the sesha, Julian was quite clean — and having some amazingly, distinctly dirty thoughts.

“Mm.” A refined little murmur of appreciation, a sound that quickened the stirring between his legs. Garak swallowed and closed his eyes reverently. “I must say, dear Doctor, that your body chemistry is quite exquisite. I don’t know that I’ve ever tasted better.”

Julian stared at him in something a lot like disbelief. If someone had come up to him two hours ago and said  _Guess what, Doctor Bashir? Tonight you’ll be looking at plain, simple Garak and wanting him to start licking you all over,_  he would have written them off as completely mad. But oh God, that potent combination of sensuality, precision and effortless mastery...

For the first time, Julian began to wonder if there was more to be learned as Garak’s unofficial protégé than he’d ever imagined. His heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of his chest and his whole body smouldered with a subtle bittersweet fire as he wondered, in a bit of a daze, when the hell he'd suddenly become attracted to other men.

Garak opened his eyes and regarded Julian brightly. “Now perhaps you understand that look the waiter gave you.”

“I, uh...” It took him a moment to remember what Garak was referring to. “This isn’t something friends usually share, is it?”

Garak laughed softly. “Only friends of a very special sort, Doctor.”

Which was not reassuring in the least, yet his heart performed a little leap in his chest. “And we’re doing this because...?”

“Kejal-am  _is_  a time for expanding one’s horizons.” He lifted his glass of kanar and saluted Julian with it, his eyes no less blue than the alcohol in the dimness. “To new experiences?”

Julian snatched up his martini and returned the salutation: “To new experiences!” He took a mouthful, then muttered: “And to keeping that trader off my tail.”

This time the smile was mischievous.“When word gets around that you and I have shared a plate of sesham, any inquiries they make will meet with the same response, at least from the Bajorans. Your fellow Starfleet officers might not —” 

Julian stifled a groan, and in response to Garak’s look of polite interest said: “Kira is going to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the good Major. What’s done during Kejal-am is considered beyond the pale of normal everyday behaviour.” He nodded toward the lower level. “I daresay you could perform a strip-tease on top of the bar tonight and nobody would think anything of it tomorrow.”

“Or sleep with —” He caught himself. “Anybody? Including that Evorian trader?”

“Anybody,” Garak agreed. “Including that particular young man.” He smiled again. “But you wouldn’t want all my hard work preserving your virtue to go to waste, would you?”

Julian looked at him for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly what that meant. With Garak, one could never be sure — and that had always been three quarters of the fun. The currents of innuendo that swirled around him like tongues of flame were new, however, and he was just opening his mouth to reply when he was hailed:

“Julian!”

The familiar voice made them both look up. Jadzia Dax had come up the stairs and was making her way toward them, clad in a clinging yet tasteful blue dress that highlighted everything exactly as it should, including the enticing lines of spots descending into its plunging neckline. Julian’s mouth went dry as two equally strong currents of sexual desire suddenly pulled him in completely different directions. 

“Ah, Lieutenant!” Garak seemed delighted to see her and greeted her warmly as she wound her way to their table. “Evora Kejal-am!”

“Evora Kejal-am!” She stopped in front of it and smiled briefly down at her dress. “I’ve been getting compliments on this all evening, Garak.”

The tailor made a little bow with his chin. “I’m so pleased.”

The Trill turned to Julian, looking like she had a secret to share. “Julian, you’ll never believe what —”

She stopped dead. It took Julian a moment to realize that she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She’d seen the plate of sesham, and her conspiratorial smile instantly shifted to something both more Sphinxlike and far more gleeful than it had any right to be.

Jadzia glanced at Garak, whose expression was something between total innocence and the cat that’s got the cream. She looked at Julian, who felt like his cheeks were on fire. 

“Never mind,” she said, still smiling. Before turning back towards the stairs, she paused to give Julian’s shoulder a quick squeeze and lean close to whisper: “It’s about time!” 

Julian stared after her, refusing to believe that Jadzia had seen what she’d seen and drawn the conclusion she’d drawn. What made it worse was that he wasn’t even sure if the conclusion she’d drawn was correct or not.

“Well,” Garak remarked, “that takes care of getting the word out to Starfleet.”

“Forget Major Kira.” Julian felt like he was choking. “Commander Sisko is going to have my guts for garters.”

The weight of cool fingers on the back of his right hand brought his attention sharply back to Garak, who was looking at him with something that seemed a lot like sympathy. “If I’ve gotten you in trouble, I  _am_  sorry.”

“It’s not that,” Julian quickly assured him. After all, Sisko had urged his officers to have a good time, and licking Garak’s fingers in public, while admittedly strange, certainly wasn’t illegal. “It’s...” Another glance at Jadzia’s elaborate hairstyle disappearing down the staircase. “You know how she is, Garak. This will be all over the station within the hour!”

Garak frowned and withdrew his hand. “Is that a problem?”

“You’re joking.”

A polite smile suggested that no, he was not. “May I offer some advice?”

Julian, thinking of Jadzia Dax busily spreading the news that he was up here making out with the station’s resident Cardassian spy, simply nodded.

“Kejal-am is an opportunity for people to try on roles which they might never think of assuming otherwise," Garak continued. "To engage in a little harmless roleplaying, if you will.” He laid the tips of his fingers the edge of the plate of sesham. “Tell me, did you find this exercise distasteful? In any way?” His expression turned serious, silently enjoining Julian to be perfectly frank with him.

Less than thirty seconds ago Julian’s mouth had been dry. Suddenly it was watering. A number of cunning dissembling phrases flashed through his augmented mind, but he was pretty sure Garak would find them all insipid, so he opted for simple honesty: “Not in the least.”

Another brilliant smile. “Excellent! How nice to see you enter into the spirit of things.” He reached out to touch Julian’s hand again. “That’s one thing I’ve always appreciated about you, Doctor: your openness to new experiences.”

 _Did he just say what I think he just said?_ The contact was light and brief, skirting the line between friendliness and something more. As usual the Cardassian seemed incapable of giving a straight answer, even when the medium of communication was unspoken.

“Now,” Garak continued, “I’ve promised to show you the highlights of the festival and there’s a great deal more to see. Shall we?” He set aside his napkin and started to rise.

“But —” Garak paused mid-motion and looked down at him. Julian blinked. “We haven’t finished — I mean, shouldn’t we...?” A nervous gesture at the plate of sesham. “If we don’t, and that trader finds out, it’ll look like we’re not...”

Garak seemed impressed. “Why Doctor, how devious! We’ll make a secret agent out of you yet.” He sat back down and studied the plate for a moment, choosing a morsel from Julian’s end of the circle. “This, too, is significant,” he noted.

“Is it?” Not the most polished prompt he’d ever offered: he was too busy watching the way the Cardassian’s fingers skilfully manipulated the small pearly sphere. 

“To take a sesha from one’s own side of the plate indicates a desire for physical intimacy without any emotional entanglements.” His blue eyes gleamed at his companion. “And that’s certainly not the case here, is it?”

“Oh, no.” So many implications: he felt like he was trying to pilot a shuttlecraft blind through a minefield. “Certainly not.”

“I thought you might see it that way.” Again that serpentine glint of very white teeth. Julian was certain that there were at least three different meanings behind that mundane arrangement of words; for the first time, he felt a small but fervent conscious hope that one of those possibilities might involve them ending up in bed together later. The thought was slightly stunning. Certainly he’d always found his lunch companion mesmerizing in a suggestive and dangerous way, but he couldn’t recall ever feeling something this clearly and unambiguously sexual. Men had never done much for him...

... but this was  _Garak_ , after all, and Garak was utterly unlike anyone Julian had ever met before. After almost two years of weekly lunch dates and an interval of nearly mortal illness he still knew so little about his Cardassian friend. Just look at how many hoops he’d been required to jump through just to learn the tailor’s first name! Were they even friends? Could you be friends with someone who had turned lying into an art form? What, really, was Garak doing with him right now? Stringing him along, playing him for a naive young fool? Silently laughing at his eagerness and inexperience? 

Or had that expression of enjoyment been a genuine response? Were the two states of mind — mockery and desire — necessarily mutually exclusive?

Julian smiled as Garak leaned forward, offering the sesha as bait, or a present, or a promise, or whatever else it represented between them. There was only one way to find out what the older man really meant, and that was to see this evening through to its conclusion. God forbid that Julian Bashir, the medic who aspired to matters of espionage, should fail to rise to the challenge!

And who knew? Perhaps he’d even be able to best Garak at one of the many games he played. Stranger things had happened — admittedly not often, but Julian was a man who put a lot of stock in hope in spite of tonight's sudden change of plans.

Hell, that change of plans might turn out to be fairly exhilarating in its own right.

Keeping his eyes locked on Garak’s, he leaned in and accepted the small gift of delicious food, its taste programmed by Garak’s own chemistry. He was careful to apply his lips and tongue as skillfully as he could, noting in the process that the Cardassian’s skin was pleasantly cool and had a subtle rough texture. Just as he drew back the tip of Garak’s forefinger caressed the the point of his tongue, a tiny circular stroke, but clear as a lightning bolt. Suddenly Julian was warm down to his toes.  _Damn, he’s good at this,_  he thought a tad dizzily. Then it was Julian’s turn to offer, selecting a piece from Garak's side of the plate, and as Garak consumed the sesha (if you could apply a word as mundane as “consume” to an act that slyly and delicately sensual) Julian found another question occurring to him through the distracting buzz of increasing arousal.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” he asked when Garak’s tongue was quite finished.

The Cardassian was taking his time selecting just the right piece from Julian’s side of the plate. “I may be only a simple tailor, but... well, let’s just say that my line of work requires a thorough knowledge of many local customs.”

“I see.” Julian found himself wanting to lick his lips in anticipation. “So no practical experience, then?”

Garak offered him a glance of reproof. “That would be telling, and as you know a gentleman never tells.”

“I consider you many things, Garak. I’m not sure if ‘gentleman’ is one of them.”

“Really, Doctor!” He sounded quite wounded, and paused with his fingers poised over a sesha. “Whatever would possess you to say such a thing?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong — you are many things, some of them quite admirable. Devastatingly intelligent, for example. Dedicated. Strong-willed. Immensely talented.”  _In ways I’d never imagined before tonight,_  he added silently. “But I’m not sure I’d call someone capable of working as an Obsidian Order operative a ‘gentleman’, no matter how polite and well-spoken he may be.”

Garak shook his head sadly. “I’ll never understand why you persist in believing these vicious rumours.”

“Garak,” Julian said patiently, “I heard it from Enabran Tain himself.”

The Cardassian picked up the sesha. “And tell me, what reason do you have to believe that he was telling the truth?”

“He gave me the information necessary to cure you, didn’t he?”

“Ah, my dear friend.” Now his tone dripped fond indulgence. “You’re far too trusting of strangers.”

“I think I’m far too trusting of you,” Julian said drily. 

“Perhaps.” He contemplated the sesha he was preparing, then looked at Julian with teasing solemnity. “After all, you’ve been accepting food from my hands for the last ten minutes. I’ve had ample opportunity to poison you.”

“Is that what you used to do?” He pitched his voice a little lower. “In the Obsidian Order?”

Garak leaned closer, matching Julian’s conspiratorial tone. “If I had, do you think I’d tell you in the very act of killing you?”

Julian shrugged. “If I’m going to die, what difference would it make?”

Garak laughed low in his throat, his mocking smile flashing in the bar’s darkness. “A most admirable attitude in the face of danger!” He offered, and Julian accepted readily. Only two more pieces of sesham remained, and he found himself regretting that this particular game would soon be at an end, even as he wondered just what Garak had in mind next. There was no sign of the Evorian traders —  _Not that I’ve exactly been paying attention,_  Julian thought ruefully. When the sesha was gone he took a moment to glance at his surroundings. The patrons at the surrounding tables seemed to be exactly the same as when he’d sat down, and on what he could see of the main level of Quark’s there was not a trace of white dreadlocks in view.


	3. Chapter 3

The second-to-last piece of sesham beckoned. Julian picked it up and rolled it between his fingertips, feeling it warm to his touch. "I don't see any sign of Assok," he remarked, then elaborated in response to Garak's cocked head: "My Evorian 'friend'. His full name is apparently Zevar Til Assok, son-heir of the First Procurer of the Sevarn Consortium."

Garak looked approving. "When you attract the wrong sort of attention you only attract the very best, don't you?"

"I'm not flattered in the least, I assure you."

"Perhaps not, but you must admit that he has excellent taste."

"Pun intended?"

"Puns are the lowest form of humor, as you well know. Would I stoop to that?"

"I don't know." He held out the sesha with what he hoped was an alluring smile. "I'm learning all sorts of new things about you this evening."

Garak leaned in and did some things with his tongue, the implications of which, while not obvious to a casual observer, were not lost on Julian or the head of his erection, which yearned to be in the position of his fingers. When he was finished he smiled wickedly. "It's always a pleasure to further your education, Doctor."

 _Oh yes,_ definitely _ending up in bed together later if I have anything to say about it._  Aloud he said: “Tell me what they do on Cardassia.”

Garak paused in the act of sipping his kanar. “Excuse me?”

“This, the sesham, is a Bajoran custom, right? So what do Cardassians do to express a similar emotional paradigm?”

A polite smile. “I’m afraid it’s been a rather long time since I’ve been to Cardassia, Doctor. Customs may have changed, and my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

Julian took a sip of his martini, regarding Garak steadily the while. “I’ve often thought that you must be lonely,” he ventured.

The tailor shrugged in a small self-deprecating way. “I’m not one to dwell on my troubles.”

Julian snorted, but elected to let the point pass. 

“We argue,” Garak said simply.

“I beg your pardon?”

“On Cardassia, conversation is a carefully cultivated art form. Two Bajorans who have a mutual interest in one other might pray together; two Humans might dance. Similarly, we engage in a spirited exchange of ideas.”

“Like —” Another piece of previously solid ground shifted under Julian’s feet. “Like our lunch conversations?”

Garak smiled again in a way that was mildly chiding. “I’ve never held you to Cardassian standards, Doctor. But yes, something like that.”

“Like what we’re doing right now?”

“On Cardassia, this would be considered moderately serious flirting.” He picked up the last sesha and began to prepare it, taking his time. “This, however, is Bajor, and I have been in exile a very long time. I believe you Humans have a saying:  _When in Rome_...?”

“That’s right. It has to do with adapting oneself to local customs.”

Garak made an elegant gesture indicating the crowds around them with the hand holding the sesha. “For example, here we are, at the festival of Kejal-am, where people do things they normally wouldn’t be caught dead considering. For one night, all is permitted and nothing is forbidden. Out-of-character behaviour is condoned — nay, encouraged, if it follows the true will of the participant." He held out the sesha. "Eat up, dear boy." Julian, polishing it off, decided that he liked that particular endearment very much, and tried to communicate his approval without saying a word. By the time he drew back Garak was smiling in a way that sent a white-hot chill down his spine and straight to his cock, which was fully behind Julian's notion of how this night was going to play out. "Are you familiar with that phrase, Doctor: ‘true will’?”

“I encountered it once or twice in those repetitive epics you loaned me." He took a tiny sip of his drink, regarding his companion through lowered eyelashes. "I was never fully clear on what it meant, though.”

“Ah!” Garak was always pleased to explain some fine point of Cardassian philosophy or literature. “’True will’ means acting in accordance with one’s essential nature, and such actions will always prove to be right actions, both for the family and for the state.”

In spite of himself Julian found himself drawn into the non-flirtatious conversational gambit. “And for oneself?”

Garak waved away the objection. “In comparison to the good of the state, the ‘self’ is a rather petty concept, don’t you think?”

“Yet you’re out here alone,” Julian pointed out. “I’d say the ‘self’ is all you have to depend upon.”

“True, perhaps, but that’s not what we’re discussing.”

"You're right. It's not." He leaned in again, gazing deeply into Garak's amused eyes. "Now, will you show me how Cardassians go about this sort of thing? In the interests of my education?"

After a moment Garak affected an aggrieved sigh. "Hold up your right hand, palm toward me." Julian obeyed and Garak reciprocated, pressing palm to palm and fingers flat against fingers. "This is an expression of general affection, appropriate between lovers, but also between siblings or parent and child or a mentor and his protégé." He moved his fingers to interlock them lightly with Julian's, not holding hands the way a Human couple would but rather shallowly interpenetrating. "This, however, conveys a much more intimate meaning and would be a scandal if used in any context other than between," a mischievous smile, "two people who have shared a plate of sesham."

Julian nodded. "I see." He made no effort to withdraw now that the example had been given. Neither did Garak. "And tell me, do Cardassians kiss?"

"When the occasion warrants. In public, however, we're much more likely to do this…"

He leaned even closer, drawing Julian in. The table was small enough that Garak could stroke his cheek against that of his Human friend: angling in, rubbing, angling back, then repeating the initial motion. The Cardassian’s skin communicated less heat than a Human’s, and the texture of the ridge at the line of his jaw sent a chill down Julian’s spine. The gesture was reptilian and feline at the same time, unmistakably a caress, and Julian did his best to reciprocate in kind.

Garak’s voice in his ear, low and intimate and amused: “I must say, you certainly pick things up quickly.”

Julian drew a shallow breath. The scent of Garak filled his awareness, light and subtle: his skin dusky like spices, the slightly sharper tang of his hair. He wanted to press his face to that fall of midnight black and breathe deep. For one bewildered second he wondered just where his heterosexuality had gone; then he realized that he was in the position to perform a unique experiment, and took the opportunity.

Pressing closer, he whispered into the half-covered shell of Garak's ear: “Elim…” He infused the breathy sigh with passion that was far from entirely feigned and felt tension gather in Garak’s jaw as the Cardassian pressed a little closer, followed a soft hiss of indrawn breath, then a chuckle.

“Oh, well played, Doctor!” The spy turned his head just enough to speak against Julian's neck; he couldn’t tell if he was hearing mockery or admiration. Perhaps it was a little of both. “I must be rubbing off on you.” He drew back barely far enough to look Julian in the eyes, smiling faintly. “So. You know now that Elim is indeed my true name. Are you satisfied?”

Julian studied him in turn, tracing the contours of that strangely sculpted face with its twilight skin, probing the depths of those pale eyes that so often seemed to gaze into his soul.  _Do you see what you’re doing to me right now?_  he wondered silently.  _Of course you do._  Aloud he said: “For the moment.”

Garak's smile was just starting to widen when a voice above and to Julian's right said: "I hope I'm not interrupting anything…?"

They both looked up to find a familiar figure standing in front of their table, short and smarmy and clad in a tunic almost as loud as the revelry around him, with a solicitous expression on his pointed face and a small tray holding two drinks in his left hand. This evening was turning out to be full of surprises. Garak reacted first: "Quark? What are  _you_  doing here?"

An oily smile spread across the Ferengi's face. "Bringing two old friends a complimentary drink, what else?" With practiced flourishes of his right hand he deposited the glasses on the tabletop. "A glass of kanar for you, Garak — the Karakal 2736 pressing, my finest vintage I might add! — and another martini for you, Doctor Bashir. Enjoy!"

"On the house?" Julian couldn't believe it and certainly didn't trust it. "But why?"

Quark executed an ingratiating little shrug. "Oh, let's just say I feel like celebrating." He leaned closer to speak in a more conspiratorial tone: "Although I must say I'm a little surprised — not about…" and he waved in the direction of Garak and Bashir's hands, which were still pressed together, "but that you chose my humble establishment for the big reveal!" He pressed his hand to his heart. "Truly, I'm honoured that you'd think of —"

Julian managed to produce a little strangling sound and not much else. Garak merely smiled politely in a way that made Quark take a step back before he recovered his composure and tucked the tray neatly under his right arm. "Well! I'll just leave you to it, then." He grinned, although his eyes betrayed his nervousness. "Evora Kejal-am, and I hope you both have a wonderful,  _wonderful_  night!"

He was almost at the staircase again before Julian found his voice: "Forget about Starfleet finding out! In ten minutes Quark will have told everyone and their dog that we're… well…"

"Of course he will." Garak, however, seemed more pleased than anything else. He leaned in again to rub his chin-scales briefly against Julian's jaw before sitting back and withdrawing his hand. "People will want to see it with their own eyes, after all."

"Oh God." He seemed to be saying that a lot this evening, but it had been appropriate every single time. He sat back in his turn and cast another glance after Quark. "No wonder he gave us free drinks!"

"Indeed. A small price to pay to bring more people streaming into his bar to gawk at the spectacle."

Julian's heart, which had been up and down more times than a Otaran jumba dancer, sank toward the floor again. Garak caught the look and made a little face as he picked up his glass of vintage kanar. "Oh, don't fret! The more people know about our little performance the better, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, unless those people happen to be Miles O'Brien or Kira Nerys. I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend my evening being lectured by either one of them!"

Garak looked thoughtful as he sipped his drink, then made an expression that suggested he found it excellent before continuing: "I see your point. Perhaps we should present a moving target, and I do have other aspects of the festival to show you."

"That sounds wonderful," Julian said fervently, and drank up his new martini in two swallows. Garak took a bit longer to finish, making Julian fidget before he set down the empty glass and put aside his napkin for the second time that night. As they reached the head of the stairs Julian looked down onto the crowded floor below and saw Quark talking earnestly to Morn and gesturing up toward their approximate location.  _Oh Lord, he's told_  Morn. _That's as good as putting it out on the station's general comm system!_ His erection, which had been diminishing ever since the Ferengi had made his impromptu appearance, subsided fully at the thought, which was a mercy now that they were entering a better lit area of the station: his pants were tight enough to conceal very little in that regard.

Garak kept a hand on the small of his back as they descended the stairs. He was so busy watching Quark spread the gossip that he didn't take in the rest of the bar, and in consequence he was startled when Garak, a couple of seconds after they reached the ground floor, suddenly moved in closer and spoke in his ear: 

“The Evorians are at a corner table at the back.  _Don’t look,_ ” he hissed, briefly sounding utterly reptilian as his hand slipped around to Bashir’s waist and locked tight. “They’re watching us quite closely. How unfortunate. I had hoped they’d have been thrown off the scent by now.”

“Any suggestions?” Bashir thought he could feel the gaze of Assok boring into the back of his neck. In contrast the weight of Garak’s arm didn’t feel half as odd as it should have, he noted clinically.

“For Shogoth’s sake, put your arm around me and try to make it look natural.” Bashir obeyed, and as they approached the exit Garak flashed a winning smile at Quark, who looked up from talking with his most dedicated barfly with an expression combining professional courtesy and lecherous insinuation with keen disappointment. Out of the corner of his mouth the Cardassian said: “We’re going to go for a walk: a nice leisurely stroll on the second level. Perhaps the sight of a little casual public affection will convince your young suitor that his attentions aren’t welcome.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“We’ll improvise. That’s what any good spy must do when the situation warrants it.”

In Julian’s experience the first time walking with someone’s arm around him, or his arm around them, involved an awkward initial thirty to sixty seconds (and sometimes considerably longer) before their bodies learned to move in harmonious tandem. With Garak, it felt immediately effortless. Two years of responding to and mirroring each other’s body language across a table had evidently created a shared sense of rhythm. Garak’s arm around him felt quite comfortable; it fell at just the right point on his back and the broad grey hand fitted into the angle of his waist perfectly.

As they emerged onto the Promenade he could tell that more than the Evorian trader’s eyes were on them: most people were involved in their own flirtations and celebrations, but a fair number were taking notice. He prayed to whatever Gods might be that Garak was right and that tomorrow nobody would think twice about what they were seeing tonight, as increasingly unlikely as that seemed given both Quark and Jadzia's reactions. Garak flashed a smile at the world in general and kept walking: not too swiftly, not as if they were being pursued, but quickly enough to indicate that they were going somewhere other than here. Julian followed his lead. With a randy Evorian male hunting him he was prepared to do just about anything Garak suggested.

 _I could always just go back to my quarters._  The thought no sooner crossed his mind than it was dismissed. This evening was turning out to be almost indescribably weird, but it was also undeniably thrilling — like a holodeck program come to life. Julian enjoyed a good mystery and was curious to see how this one ended, for all sorts of reasons that would probably not bear closer examination on the morrow.

He fancied he could sense the traders behind them as they walked down the corridor toward the nearest turbolift but didn't quite dare to glance back over his shoulder. The lift doors slid open as they approached and a small crowd of people emerged. Most of them were flushed and laughing and full of good spirits. One of them clearly was not.

 _Oh God, Odo!_  Julian barely had time to think before the Constable’s gaze fell on them. Now here was someone who would definitely _not_  forget.

The Changeling didn’t even blink. “Gentlemen,” he ground out as he passed them. His tone revealed nothing, but his eyes were full of suspicion and speculation. Garak smiled at him. Julian tried to and was pretty sure he failed.

“Constable,” Garak greeted him in return. Then they had passed Deep Space Nine’s Chief of Security and were stepping onto the lift. Nobody else got in with them, which was surprising considering the press of people on the first level, but Julian decided to simply accept any break the universe was willing to give him with gratitude. 

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and turned his head to face Garak. “What do you mean, ‘improvise’?”

“With a little of the luck you Humans hold in such high esteem,” Garak replied, “you won’t have to find out.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Julian accused him.

“After years of hemming men’s trousers,” Garak responded, “a little bit of excitement is a welcome change of pace. And besides,” a significant glance down at Julian’s hand at his waist, “you seem quite content to play along.”

The trip to the second level of the Promenade was naturally very short, so the doors chose that moment to open and Julian had to hold his retort until after they’d made their way past another couple waiting to get on the lift. “Play along?” he finally hissed when they were out of earshot. “After that business with the sesham, you’re not actually going to pretend to be startled by  _my_  actions?”

Cardassians had no eyebrows to raise but Garak performed a nearly equivalent action. “My dear Doctor, I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“You were practically —”  _Making love to me on the table in Quark’s bar,_ but he couldn’t very well say that, could he? Especially when he wasn’t even sure that that was what had been going on. “Let’s just say that sharing an  _extremely_  intimate supper with you wasn’t part of my plans for this evening.”

A little smirk. “Well. You did seem to enjoy it.”

Garak was holding their pace to a slow walk now, but Julian tightened his hold on the Cardassian’s waist out of sheer frustration. “Garak, I’m serious!”

“As am I. However,” and he glanced back casually over his near shoulder, “I really think we should concern ourselves with the Evorians who just came up the stairs.”

Julian’s heart, which had been beating faster with outrage, headed toward his stomach again. “Already?”

He felt Garak shrug inside his tunic, which was thick-layered to shut out the cold of the station’s atmosphere. “They  _are_  known for being remarkably persistent once they’ve set their sights on something.”

“There’s got to be a way to get them to back off. Maybe we should inform Odo that —”

Garak sighed. “Have all my lessons on politics been for naught? Doctor, involving station security would be the  _worst_  possible thing we could do. It would embarrass the Evorians, and that might well make them withdraw their offer to trade larinium. How do you think Commander Sisko would feel about  _that?”_

Julian didn’t have to be a genius to figure that one out: if being publicly cozy with Garak would earn him a dressing-down in Sisko’s ready room tomorrow, causing the Evorian trade talks to fail would have him scrubbing plasma conduits in his free time for the next three months. “Not good,” he admitted, deciding to leave out the details of his potential punishment. 

Garak nodded as if that settled the matter. 

“But if they... persist...” Julian couldn’t bring himself to articulate the possibilities. “I mean, I _can’t,_  can I?”

“That depends. Just how much  _are_  you willing to do to ensure that the talks go forward?”

Bashir shuddered dramatically. “Not submit to a smelly Evorian brute, that’s for damned certain!”

“I doubt that will be necessary, if we can play our parts with enough conviction. Lay your head on my shoulder, Doctor, and try not to walk as if you have Rajican ants crawling up your pant legs.”

After a moment Julian followed the spy's suggestion. The slope of the Cardassian’s trapezial scales provided a surface at just the right angle not to strain his neck in spite of their roughly equivalent heights. and the quilted material of the tunic actually felt quite comfortable under his cheek. Beneath it, and under his arm and against his side, he could feel the steady strength of Garak’s sturdier body moving easily with his. The sensation was far from unpleasant. 

“There...” Garak’s voice was a soothing whisper, as if he were putting a child to sleep. His arm tightened a little around Bashir’s back, pulling them close enough that their pace slowed even further. “Let’s talk of more pleasant things, shall we?”

Julian closed his eyes. No,  _unpleasant_  was not the word he’d use to describe this at all. “Such as...?”

Garak nuzzled briefly into his hair, surprising him before he remembered the watching Evorian traders, and murmured fondly: “Anything you like, _s’sesslei.”_  

The strange word rang a faint bell in Julian’s mind; he set part of his considerable intellect to the task of chasing its meaning down. Something he’d seen in the Cardassian literature Garak had given him over the years? If so, it was an obscure reference, perhaps seen only once. “Do you really like men?”

The second the words were out he regretted them, but Garak only sighed in a way that suggested he found the question amusing and was too polite to laugh. “In the spirit of Kejal-am, I must admit that I’ve never limited myself in the Human sense. What I appreciate is beauty and intellect, no matter what the sexual equipment of the individual in question.”

“So... you’ve been with both?” He hadn’t thought it possible that this evening could become more surreal, but here they were, having this conversation while they strolled like lovers down the upper level of the Promenade.

Garak was silent for a long moment, and Julian was starting to think he’d asked entirely the wrong question when the Cardassian responded: “Have you?”

An almost insultingly obvious diversionary tactic. Julian considered employing one of his own, but settled for: “No. I’ve never met a man who attracted my attention that way.”

“I see.” Two more meters in silence before Garak finished the thought: “What a pity.”

Not entirely to his surprise, Julian heard himself say: “Or rather, I never  _had_  met a man who attracted me that way...”

After a moment Garek chuckled. “Ah, Doctor! I see you’re beginning to truly appreciate the essence of the festival!” Julian felt the shift of the Cardassian’s body as he turned his head just enough to sneak another narrow glance behind them. “They’re keeping their distance,” he continued in the same intimate conversational tone, “but we’re still in their sights. How far  _are_  you willing to go, Doctor?”

 _All the way to your bed._  Part of him was still shocked at the realization; the rest of him was quite keen to pursue the possibility. He kept his eyes closed. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Let’s not panic yet. They may lose interest at any moment. So tell me, who is the lucky gentleman?”

Julian opened his eyes and glanced up at Garak’s jawline. “In the spirit of Kejal-am?” Garak responded with one of those insufferable smirks that suggested he already knew the answer. Julian released a slow exhalation. “Let’s just say that I was really curious to see what you had in mind after the sesh—”

The tightening of Garak’s grip on his waist was all the warning he got. In one fluid motion Garak stepped around in front of him, halting their progress down the Promenade. The Cardassian’s hands caught hold of his hips, and he barely had time to blink before Garak moved in very close, chest to chest. He caught a startling glimpse of the Cardassian’s gaze flickering past him, presumably toward the Evorians. The look in Garak’s blue eyes stunned him. It was an expression that communicated steely determination and a clear warning that violence was about to occur, a carrier wave of pure menace that was perfectly appropriate for an agent of the Obsidian Order.

 _I knew it!_ Julian opened his mouth, to say he knew not what, and Garak promptly kissed him.

And not just kissed him...

... but  _kissed_  him.


	4. Chapter 4

Julian’s eyes opened wide as a shock of pure sexual heat struck him like lightning, setting him on fire all the way down to the soles of his feet: a synthesis of danger and intrigue and the fascination he'd always felt in the presence of this man combined with the sensual priming of the sharing of the sesham. For a couple of seconds he stared at the crowd visible beyond Garak’s left ear, his gaze unfocusing; then his eyes drifted closed and he basked in the warmth of it, winding his arms around the Cardassian’s shoulders and back and kissing him with all the eagerness that had been building over the course of this most paradoxical night. 

Garak’s mouth tasted absolutely delicious — the lingering effects of the sesham, no doubt — and Julian surrendered to it without a qualm. He could actually hear his own pulse roaring in his ears, and feel the blood pounding in other parts of his body as he opened his mouth and offered his tongue, an offer which was accepted and reciprocated.

 _Oh God,_  he thought deliriously yet again,  _take me now!_  It was a cry straight from his left anterior cingulate cortex, but understanding the physiological basis of the response didn’t help him to overcome it. Not that he wanted to be rescued: he was perfectly content where he was, Evorians or no Evorians, in spite of the fact that his dress pants were rapidly becoming far too tight for public decency. 

Garak didn't seem inclined to hurry. When the spy finally pulled away Julian's eyes fluttered open to find him smiling, a grim and humorless expression that revealed a thin edge of white teeth. His pale gaze was still directed past Julian toward the Evorians, who were less than a meter away if Assok's booming leonine voice was any indication: "He is not lawful prey for  _your_  kind, Cardassian."

"Really?" Garak didn't seem impressed by this declaration; in fact his grip on Julian's waist tightened, his eyes never leaving those of his adversary. "He doesn't seem to have a problem with it, do you, my pretty love?"

"Ah…" The kiss had been inflammatory but Garak's tone of voice was chilling, a steel blade sheathed in watered silk, leaving Julian torn between two very different responses. Nevertheless, when prompted by the subtle pressure of Garak's hands he relinquished his embrace and turned in place, ended up with his back to Garak's chest and a light possessive touch still settled on his hips. Craning his neck to look up into Assok's eyes, which were practically blazing with the ferocity of his emotions, he tried not to be too intimidated by the sheer breadth of the heavily muscled body which confronted them, arms akimbo and feet braced like the roots of a massive tree. "He's right. I don't."

Air hissed into Assok's towering frame, expanding it even further, and his green eyes narrowed. "You must be faint with hunger, Morsel — your mind is clearly disordered. Surely you are not declaring that you would actually be content with this… this half-empty sack of mouldy esser grain?"

"I'm not sure exactly what you meant by that," Garak said in his silk-and-steel voice, "but I'm certain it wasn't very nice."

Taking a deep breath and acutely aware that the crowds around them had stopped to stare at the confrontation, Julian set his chin and met the alien's gaze squarely. "That's exactly what I'm saying," he announced in a clear and carrying voice to match that of the Evorian trader. "I'm sorry, but he has the prior claim. I'm not free to belong to you or to anybody else." Garak's grasp tightened briefly and Julian could sense the quality of his smile change even without seeing it: now it held an element of pride, just as it had when Julian had bested Gul Dukat during the incident with the Cardassian war orphans. Julian laid his hands over the tailor's and went for broke, never taking his eyes from those of the trader. "Our laws are clear on this matter, as I'm sure yours are as well. I mean no offence and I trust that you will take none." He risked a little bow of his head and dropped his gaze. "Sweet water and salt be yours forever, Zevar Til Assok, son-heir of the First Procurer of the Sevarn Consortium! May your night be blessed with everything else your heart desires."

For a long moment Assok regarded him in silence as his fellow traders and all the other watchers held their collective breaths. Then a slow smile split his white face nearly in two. "I see that your tongue is as honeyed as your skin, little lamb — it only makes your native spice the sweeter, but you speak the truth. The law is clear. Only a rite of combat would challenge a standing claim…" He looked around at the faces of various species watching him so closely. "… and this is neither the place nor the time for such a change in the menu." He turned his piercing eyes on Garak and his smile vanished in the space of half a heartbeat. "Savour him to the full, Cardassian — for now. Farewell, Morsel. May you eat of each other's bounty and be satisfied!" It had the form of a benediction but was delivered between sharply clenched teeth, and without another word Assok turned on his heel and strode away down the Promenade, his party of followers falling into step behind him with equally haughty tosses of their dreadlocked heads. 

The crowd released its collective breath in an audible rush and started to talk amongst themselves, and on the rising tide of sound Julian silently cast away any hope that none of this would get back to Commander Sisko. Behind him he felt Garak's body relax in so subtle a fashion that he doubted anyone else had perceived it. The Cardassian's murmur in his ear was now kind: "Well done, my dear!"

Finally Julian relaxed in his turn. "I think," he said, pressing warmly on Garak's hands and thus tightening their hold on his hips, "that I need to get somewhere quieter." The weight of so many eyes on him, glancing and speculating and coming to unforgiving judgement in spite of the spirit of the festival, was more than a bit disquieting: he even thought he could feel a rising tide of potential violence in the air.

"I think you're right," Garak agreed. He removed his left hand and stepped up on Julian's left side, leaving his right hand where it was as he flashed a triumphant smile at the watchers, many of whom were looking at him with varying degrees of amazement and contempt. "Your quarters?"

There was his pulse again, filling his entire body with eager heat, and he responded fervently: "Sounds good. Let's go."

*************************************

They headed back to the turbolift, which was packed with revellers this time; Julian issued a curt order for the appropriate level and zone of the habitat ring and they stood together in silence at the back of the compartment, Garak's arm around his waist and his arm around Garak's, as people disembarked at each stop until at last there were only themselves and a soberly clad Tellarian male remaining; Julian was sure he'd seen the man in Quark's before during the past week, but couldn't place the exact time and date. This was unusual: as a rule his genetically enhanced memory retained such seemingly unimportant details long after he'd subconsciously absorbed them. Then again he  _was_  about to take another man to his bed for the first time in his life — and not just any male, but a Cardassian male, and a Cardassian  _spy_ , a perhaps-not-so-former member of the dreaded Obsidian Order — so perhaps he could be forgiven for being preoccupied with that prospect to the exclusion of all else. 

When the lift finally reached the stop closest to Julian's quarters the Tellarian gave them a disgruntled look as they exited, causing Julian to wonder briefly if he was offended by the sight of a Cardassian or if he was just a sourpuss in general. As soon as the door closed on his dour expression and the turbolift was safely on its way, leaving them in a deserted stretch of corridor, Julian hesitated no longer: he turned to Garak and wrapped both arms around the tailor's stocky body and pressed as close as he could, dragging a slow, hot, savouring kiss up the three large neck ridge scales visible above the left side of his high collar. He could feel no bulge in Garak's groin to answer his own, but that was no surprise: Cardassian men, like many Terran reptiles, kept their genitals in a sheath until ready for use. He had no doubt that when the time was right Garak would present him with a perfectly mouthwatering surprise, and he looked forward to learning the tricks necessary to coax it from its secretive lair.

Garak raised both hands to the middle of Julian's back but did not return the embrace. His tone was one of polite interest: "Doctor… what, exactly, do you think you're doing?"

"Mmph." He offered similar treatment to the aural scales along the line of Garak's jaw. If he was doing his job right they'd start to darken with arousal: even with his limited background in Cardassian biology he was aware of that much. "Sorry." He applied a sharp little bite for good measure. "Couldn't wait." Pulling back, he saw to his satisfaction that his ministrations were having the intended effect: the scales he'd caressed were a shade closer to charcoal, and the sight brought him surging back to full hardness. "You're right, let's go —"

But Garak didn't follow the tug of his hands. He stood there regarding Julian with bright curious eyes, his expression mild although his ridges were telegraphing something considerably hotter. "I don't think that would be very wise, do you?"

For a moment Julian could only stare at him. At last he said: "Wise?" in voice that was much more plaintive than he would have liked. Garak took a small but deliberate step backwards, breaking the physical contact between them, and that was all it took to drive the situation home. "But — the sesham…" He held up his right hand, fingers slightly spread in as appealing a way as he could manage. "This… hell, that  _kiss!_ "

Garak smiled at him and reached up to reciprocate the gesture, but he kept his fingers flat and resolutely uninterlaced. "You played your part to perfection. I must say that you're a much better actor than I would have given you credit for."

"Who was acting?" Julian blurted out the question before it occurred to him that Garak could have an absolute field day with such an admission. Garak, however, only inclined his head and regarded his Human friend with something close to sympathy.

"I was, my dear," he said gently. "And it worked magnificently, obviously."

Julian's heart took its final nosedive of the evening. No! It couldn't be true! This was  _Garak_ , after all, and Garak lied as naturally as other people breathed… which meant he could easily have been lying ever since he'd swept in to rescue Julian from Assok's advances… but no, there was that flush of color in his scales, it was fading now but… but… it was  _there_ , and even an agent of the Obsidian Order couldn't control an automatic arousal response…

… could he?

"My dear Doctor." Garak pressed his hand more firmly to Julian's, a gesture that might have been affectionate, then removed it and took another small step back. His smile was merry, his eyes twinkling in the dimness. "Only a fool would believe anything that anybody says during the festival of Kejal-am!"

Dazed, Julian found himself nodding and muttering in response: "Yes… yes, of course…"

Garak inclined his chin in a little bow. "Until next time?"

Still dumbfounded, Julian managed another nod. Looking remarkably chipper, Garak slipped past him and headed off down the curve of the corridor, presumably aiming for the next turbolift station.  _Very considerate of him,_  Julian thought dimly, _to leave me here in peace to process my shock at my leisure._  Scarcely aware of what he was doing, he stepped up to the wall and rested his left forearm against the bulkhead and then rested his forehead on that, concentrating on taking deep breaths and trying to will his irrepressible erection, which evidently hadn't quite gotten the message yet, to stand down.

"I can't believe it." His voice sounded thin in his own ears, and he paused for a few seconds before squeezing his eyes closed and groaning mournfully: "Oh, bloody  _hell!_ "

A female voice broke through his reverie: "Um… hello?"

For a moment he couldn't believe his ears. When he straightened up and turned around he saw the last people on the station he would have expected: the dark-haired Bajoran girl, Shivera, and her equally attractive blonde friend. They had come down the corridor from the direction opposite to the one Garak had taken and were standing three meters away in the middle of the aisle, looking at Julian curiously.

"Ah." He struggled to get his eloquence and his poise back online, shrugging his shoulders fractionally inside his cream shirt and straightening his vest with a little tug of both hands on the hem. "Hello… Shivera, isn't it?"

She nodded, exchanging a glance with her compatriot before turning her attention back to him. "Are you okay?"

"What, me?" He mustered a smile. When faced with such beauty it was surprisingly easy. "I'm fine — fit as a fiddle."

"Oh… good." She started slowly toward him, appearing cautious but hopeful, followed by her companion. "Are you sure? You didn't look so fine just now."

Julian tossed off a casual laugh. "Oh, that! Just a twinge of a headache. Nothing to worry about." He dismissed the subject with a little wave of one hand and turned on more of the patented Bashir charm in the form of a more brilliant smile and a slight straightening of his spine, displaying his full height and the line of his shoulders and throat to best advantage. A tiny hope was kindling in his breast that perhaps this evening wasn't going to be a total loss after all.

The blonde, whose name Julian had never gotten, piped up for the first time: "Where's your friend? The Cardassian?"

Julian thought fast. "He… had a headache too. Much worse than mine. He's gone home for the night." No liar of Garak's calibre he, but it seemed to satisfy them.

"Oh." Shivera shrugged and stopped a meter or so away. "Anyway, we heard there was a party on this level. Do you know where it is?"

Julian didn't, but he recovered nicely. "Well, I don't know anything about a party, but I  _do_  have a bottle of fifty-year-old cognac in my quarters. If you'd like to join me for a quick drink…?"

The two girls looked at each other. Julian held his breath, then relaxed when they giggled and advanced again, moving in on either side of him. Shivera leaned up to whisper in his ear while her hand slipped inside his vest and did wonderful things to his chest: "Okay, as long as you promise it will be be a  _quick_  drink. I have a  _lot_  of other things I'd like to do for Kejel-am…"

Wrapping an arm around each of them, Julian grinned down at her while the blonde whispered against his neck on the other side with a thrilling tickle of warm breath: "Are you sure your friend won't mind?"

"He's just that," Julian said firmly. "A friend. Now if you ladies will follow me, I promise I'll make this a Kejal-am you'll remember for the rest of your lives…"

Leading two sweet willing women toward his bed, Julian reflected that he'd ended up exactly where he'd hoped to be when this evening started. He still wanted it to be Garak at his side — and in his arms, and stroking him, and kissing him, hair like black silk and keen discerning eyes and clever words to challenge him and scales to catch against his fingers — but if this was the consolation prize for an evening's worth of sexual teasing he could pronounce himself pleased with the way things had turned out, if not completely satisfied. Before turning his attention completely to the uncomplicated beauties snuggling up against him he spared a thought to wonder if Quark could procure sesham at any time of the year; if so, perhaps a visit to Garak's quarters in the near future with a box of take-away would be in order. After all, this  _was_  Garak he was talking about, and just because the Cardassian had followed his usual policy of camouflaging his true intent it didn't mean that Julian might not, at some point in the future and by virtue of persistence and cunning, find some way to unmask it.

No matter what he had to do to accomplish that goal, Julian suspected that the reward would be well worth the effort.

THE END

  



End file.
